Moriarty's Waterloo
by Objective
Summary: Anyone who has read Heinlein or fan-fiction knows that fictions can mix. Edward finds himself twisting through London’s underground for a meal during his rebellious phase.


Moriarty's Waterloo

AN: This piece can't really even be called a one-shot; it's neither started nor finished. Also, the timelines are ever so slightly skewed. Thanks go to phantom-writer 3739 for recommending that I publish it. Recognizable characters and concepts belong to their original authors.

_Appears an antiquated, indistinct, shining man in the darkness, calling: "Let us travel again, my apprentice…"_

_The darkness lifts, and the infinite dimensionality of what is shifts into view…moments, days, eons pass before the chaotic scramble of sensations settles into a recognizable form. _

_Doors. Tiers, stacks, twists, racks of wide, narrow, plain, filthy, bloody, shining, or intricate doors; and yet the intrinsic nature of these doors is the pure essence of a gateway: each encapsulates a life. _

_These lives, bleeding and short as too many die young and violently, or fading and immeasurable as the few that made survival their goal, make up the web-lace of what once was. This spinning static view can never cause less than dread._

_The teacher speaks again. "Many things you must learn, and not all will wait until you are ready to comprehend them. Preparation need not be specific."_

_General preparation is much less efficacious. Pattern-matching is necessary to achieve elegant closure._

_Suddenly, he is done waiting._

_Instant arrival. Another immeasurable period pass in the perusal of the door. This hole stunk with the darkness of its owner's spirit, but blazed with the intellectual meticulosity of a spider. With the application of attention, the door opens, as does a view of he whose tale this is._

_This is a moment from one of the tales of the web._

~ \ / ~

All was well in London. Money was coming in from all over the world; my empire had grown with His Imperial Majesty's. The war had devastated the supply of young and gullible agents, but the remaining few were desperate, desperate enough to do almost anything. Ownership redistribution had never been more lucrative.

The fly in my gilded ointment was some sort of independent. My network of whores, penny-paupers, and smugglers was being depleted.

No, not depleted: it was being purposefully, knowledgeably destroyed, one criminal at a time. More worrisome even than that was the inability of my most vicious procurers to fight back. Signs of conflict? None. Pattern of attack? Drugging and cut throat.

How could my best paranoids not detect opiates in their food? But no other explanation for the bloodlessness of the wounds was possible. If I were superstitious, I might suspect some sort of wampyri. The only enemy who knows me, though, is still alive.

~ \ ~

A new report has come into my hands. One of my most stubborn child-pimps was brutally murdered, with one of his…protégés…in attendance. The child is now dead, of course; liabilities are not to be suffered. However, the brat reluctantly provided the following information on my elusive opponent—of a good height, speedy beyond sight, of extreme pale countenance, possessing hair like red gold, and animal in his speech. Why he spared the sole witness with but one dark look is unknown. If fear were not foreign to me, I would think his object was to inspire it.

This is not tenable. None of my preparations will forfend my person if this…assassin…is determined.

At the very least, he is not associated with British law. So then he must be part of my world: my dear nemesis would never stoop to the 'depth' of hiring a killer. If he is an agent of the underworld, then he can be bought off. This alone unites the dark side of London, that all know their price. Now to find him, and his price.

I am Moriarty—I have no limits.

~ \ ~

The search for the auburn-haired man is wearing on me. No tentative offers posted, no middleman sacrificed for a message, stop his depredations. My formerly good health is becoming thin, and sleep escapes me. I have come to the terrifying conclusion that he knows precisely what he is doing. Which would mean that he knows who I am. Holmes will die if I survive this, I swear it on my sainted mother's grave.

~ \ ~

I believe I saw him tonight, watching me from a crouch atop the Temple Church. My disbelief in the horror of urchin's report was immediately suspended; I had no difficulty conceiving of my bane as a creature of the night. As soon as the thought crossed my mind, he disappeared. Was I now imagining apparitions? Perhaps exhaustion and discomfort are twisting my thoughts.

My hat slid over my eyes as I walked the worn path to my comfortable lodgings. What sort of man had red eyes? He sat in utter stillness, but the attitude was not statuesque; it was the prowling stillness of a cat with its prey in reach. The frisson the memory of his stare inspired along my spine was not pleasant in the least.

~ \ ~

My first lieutenant and his companion, my bodyguard, were killed yesterday. Their bodies were left, cut throats without blood, on my threshold early this morning.

I now have no recourse, and have gathered my resources for flight to the unsettled Continent. My network is compromised at every juncture, and only the moneys and papers I have stored in my safe are available.

The unerring pursuit of me and my associates was utterly predictable. It was also impossible: I had kept all information on message passing inside the heads of people who would never betray me.

~ \ ~

My car stopped at a corner to enter traffic, and I stuck my head out to see the cause of delay. When I sat back down, I felt a draft.

There he was.

My death is near. I can't say it won't be a relief, but I had so much to do…

His voice was hard, diamond shards on night-black velvet, "You are Moriarty."

I just stared at him, transfixed by the red (red!?) of his eyes. Denial would be useless; his actions made abundantly clear his unthinkable knowledge. The certainty in his voice confirmed that my too-late fear was well founded.

"Yes, denial is useless. You will die today, but I will tell you a story first. Tell your driver to return to your domicile."

Silence, thick and heavy, was my only companion for the seemingly interminable ride.

Once inside, I removed coat and hat, placed keys in their place, and went to my study for some brandy. I might be about to die, but I can let it come with dignity.

~ / ~

I felt the life drain out of me with the blood. It wasn't entirely unpleasant, though I couldn't feel my body below the neck. How strange, that the ultimate predator would be merciful at the last.

And how unfortunate, that I was given the key to the riddle too late.

The things I could have done with unlimited time…

And so I went gently into that good night, finding my justice. Remorse was never a part of my repertoire.

~ / \ ~

_The termination of Moriarty's viewpoint was not unexpected. The intense focus of the tutor unnerved slightly, though. What did he anticipate?_

"_You are slow. What did I tell thee before the lesson? Sleep."_

_And in the dark isolation of rest-stasis, nothing was left but to consider possible morals. Preparation for the unawaited exigency… such as this sleep!_

_Struggling against the impinging void, though difficult, was nothing to the disappointment of the sensei on awakening._

"_Finally. I had nearly determined to leave thee in that state."_


End file.
